“Good, isn’t it?” she wanted to say in her Northern accent. “Comes in bottles in this county.”
“Jasper?” she could hear him say back, which prompted in her mind: “Bling, Diamond Cave, Arkansaw. CAN.”
“Are you a witch?” he actually said, sitting on the couch before her and knowing she was the one. Miss Ouri.
Of course I’m a witch, she again thought, but decided to answer otherwise. She went with the Arkansaw story. Can saw right through it.
“Take off your robe,” he tried, figuring she was a simulacrum. “I want to see.”
But she was no pleasure bot like Tronesisia still hallucinating that cactus plant over in the library. Her eyes were equal to each other, orange against orange. 2 + 2 adds up to 4 for her. She is rational, reasonable. “No.”
Well I tried, he thought. It was worth the effort. “Then… reveal yourself for who you really are.” It was second choice but maybe had a better chance to work.
Since she was a bot if not a pleasure one she had to obey this time.
“Satisfied?”
He was — 1/2 and 1/2. “Where do you come from?” Trick question! “Your Mama?” she played with in her head. She was from nowhere, actually. Outside *everything*.
“Chattanooga,” she decided, then ended with a weak, “choo choo,” and the appropriate pulling arm motions, like a conductor with his toots or whistles. Yes. Exactly like a conductor. Mahler.
—–
The next thing he knew he was in bed, drink still in hand which indicated that what went on before wasn’t actually a dream. Not really. Along with the 2 orange legs of course to match the eyes.
“You had to see, ow,” she said in her mind.
He studied them later and decided they were like 2 coke bottles while he finished his drink. Evil, they were. Not Northern atall.
—–
He went back to bed and had a different dream about the dresser and their wardrobe.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 